


On the House

by greenbucket



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Gen, Painting, Pie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-30 16:12:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17831861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenbucket/pseuds/greenbucket
Summary: Not to sound like an absolute dickwipe, but Lardo needs her space for her creative process.





	On the House

**Author's Note:**

> a Bitty's Valentines gift for kim-im-possible-2000, I hope this fits some of what you wanted!!

Logically, Lardo knows that she has to like, get out there and do her art and make herself known. To make some more money for one thing, because Shitty paying the bulk of the rent isn’t something she can let fly much longer, but also to grow as an artist and shit. Emotionally, though, is a whole different thing.

It’s not that Lardo isn’t logically thrilled to be getting paid in actual cash money instead of ‘exposure’ to paint this cute bakery a mural. It’s just that when it’s the bakery’s lunchtime rush and she’s standing on some wobbly step stool trying to cleanly sketch out the line work, with only hazard tape strung up to indicate where her work zone is, emotionally she is in full Fuck This mode.

Art is hard, but it’s especially hard when the surroundings are noisy as fuck and jostly and distracting; not to sound like an absolute dickwipe, but Lardo needs her _space_ for her _creative process_.

There isn’t much to be done about it, though. The dude behind the counter looks so rushed off his feet that Lardo would actually feel like an asshole making him pause even a second to turn the radio up louder over the sound of people, so she just fishes her headphones out of her pocket and plays one of her arting playlists loud enough to get her in the zone.  

It goes pretty well from there, which is cool. Like, it’s line stuff so it’s not going to look amazing and there is a big bit of her still convinced she’s going to fuck this whole mural up somehow, but the rush subsides, and Lardo keeps her playlist going so she doesn’t lose focus before the preliminary stuff is all done. The wobbly step stool still sucks ass, but she’s staring to develop an internal balance in counterpoint to it.

When she finally takes a break, stepping carefully down to the floor with her back aching a little from stretching to reach the top of the wall, Lardo finds there’s a slice of pie and a tall glass of water been left on the table where she’d optimistically put out some paints.

She takes out her headphones, only realising as she does that the bakery is pretty empty now. One lady chatting on the phone and enjoying a pastry, a guy browsing the frankly scary range of breads available in a variety of woven baskets. The dude behind the counter is leaning on it with his chin in his hand, eyes tired as he scrolls through his phone.

Lardo figures it can’t be very interesting doing front of shop in a bakery that only really booms at breakfast and lunch. He’d been way smiley and friendly earlier, though, introducing himself as Beric when the manager had made introductions and then going scarlet and giving this like, rambling explanation about hockey nicknames and saying to call him Eric or Bitty. Maybe, in hindsight, he’d been overcaffeinated to deal with the early start bakeries probs had and now he’s crashing hard.

Hard enough to not notice someone putting their purchase the wrong side of Lardo’s hazard tape and wandering off, but it’s not like Lardo can talk there.

 “Yo,” she calls to him. Beric-Eric-Bitty looks up, whipping his phone away and coming around the counter. Lardo holds the plate up and says, “Looks like someone’s left their pie here?”

His customer-friendly-concern expression melts away. “Oh! No, that’s for you. Didn’t know what you liked to drink so I figured water was a safe bet.”

“Um,” says Lardo. It’s not that she isn’t hungry, because she is, but the whole aesthetic of the bakery gives her hipstery, expensive vibes. She’d rather spent her leisure money on stuff like froyo, or a massive bag of chips, or weed, than artisan stuff that probably doesn’t taste half as good as it’s priced at. Though the pie does smell pretty fucking heavenly.

“Do you not like pie?” Beric asks. “I can’t imagine how you could, and I assure you I only make and serve the best of the best of the pies, but different strokes for different folks! I can get you something else?” He half turns back toward their display cabinet hopefully.

“Uh,” says Lardo.

“It’s on the house,” Eric continues, tone veering towards desperate. “Maybe I should’ve started with that. But it is! I know you’re getting paid and all, but it’s not fair to make you go hungry, is it? I mean we’re a bakery after all. We’ve got all kinds of stuff.”

Lardo blinks. A lot of words, but a nice sentiment and a sweet deal. “Swawesome. Thanks, dude.”

She sits on the bottom step of her stool and downs pretty much the whole glass of water in one before settling in for the pie. It’s strawberry, so not her favourite, but it tastes _so fucking good_ that her brain temporarily goes offline after her first bite. When Lardo comes to, deeply transformed to her core, Bitty is watching her reaction.

“Taste okay?” he asks, all innocent. Lardo’s been thinking he seems like a guileless, endlessly friendly guy, but there’s a mischievous edge to him now. He knows _exactly_ how great his pie is. And the pie is honestly legit beyond great, plus it’s super chill it’s on the house, but it’s that which makes her like him for real.

“Pretty sure I just saw God,” Lardo says, slightly awed by the pie in her lap. She takes another bite and her taste buds have a whole entire party.

Beric glows with pride. “It’s a family recipe,” he tells her. “I’ve been making pies and all sorts since before I could talk, or so I’m told.”

“Time well spent,” Lardo says, and raises her plate to him in toast. Her fork falls on the floor in the process, but five second rule. She’s not wasting any more time with this pie than she already has. Around a mouthful, she asks, “So you bake all the stuff here?”

Eric’s proud look loses some of its energy.

“No.” He glances over at the customers, the lady still chatting and the guy meticulously comparing two kinds of seed-filled breads, before leaning in conspiratorially and continuing, “See, Sandra – you spoke to her earlier? – says I’m ‘not ready yet’ for anything except the pies.” He scoffs at the idea, which seems fair to Lardo, because if his pies are all this amazing then surely his other stuff is too.

“Weird choice,” she says, nodding.

“Right?” says Bitty, vindicated. “Bless her heart, I’m sure she thinks she’s doing the best thing, but I hope she knows I’m just biding my time.” He shoots a sharply disapproving look at the back room – or maybe it’s the kitchen? Lardo can _get_ baked, sure, but she’s no baker – where Sandra must reside.

Lardo likes that look, and she likes the pie. “I’ve got some birthdays coming up,” she finds herself saying, “so if your stuff isn’t way overpriced, I’d be happy to like, boost your sales.”

“You would?” Beric says, his eyes going wide and his hands clasping together. “Oh, but don’t be silly! I’ll give you a discount.”

“You already gave me pie on the house. And these pies would be like, the best present I’m ever going to give.”

“No pressure,” Eric laughs. “But okay, how about I make _you_ a pie for free, then I’ll try and not feel bad about covering these birthdays for money?”

“Deal,” Lardo agrees. She holds out her hand and Bitty shakes it.

From the counter there is a loud throat clearing: the guy has finally selected between the seeded breads and is waiting impatiently to pay. Beric – and Lardo should really stop calling him that in her head, now he’s like sorting all her birthday-present-getting woes in one swoop – jumps back from Lardo’s art zone.

“I am so sorry,” Bitty says, accent doubling down fast; the guy automatically looks a little less pissed off, though, so fair. “I will be with you in just one moment.” He turns back to Lardo and uses one of her specialist pencils to scrawl down his number on her sketchpad. “Text me about the pies?”

“Sure,” she agrees. “My favorite’s chocolate pecan, just saying.”

He echoes ‘pecan’, shaking his head in disbelief, but tells her firmly, “When you come in tomorrow, there’s going to be the best chocolate pecan pie you’ve ever tasted waiting for you.”

Then he has to rush off before the bread dude starts getting pissy for real. Lardo adds his number to her phone under ‘🅱️eric’ (because fuck no more Beric, she’s actually a firm believer in making buddies by just treating them like they’re already buddies), finishes the pie and then turns back to look over her line work with a fresher eye. A few things to fix up jump out, but otherwise she is more or less ready to get ahead on the painting before tomorrow.

Except.

Like?

Okay. Still life isn’t Lardo’s first choice for a style, but she’d finally managed last night to settle on a design that put a range of breads at the centre of the mural – since this place sells _a lot_ of bread – and it’s a pretty neat design, if she does say so herself. Various other bakeryish things added in around the bread focus, perfectly serviceable as an attractive but not distracting mural.

But Lardo looks at the crumbs of pie left on her plate, and at Eric behind the counter chattering at the bread dude who’s even _smiling_ now. If her art isn’t an accurate representation of the true soul of a place, what’s the point? With a sigh, she picks up her sketchbook and starts trying to figure out where she could add in a very prominent pie on short notice without throwing the whole composition off.


End file.
